delinquent me

Librarians are punks. Maybe you're a librarian, and you're all like, "Hey! I'm no punk!" and then you give me the stinkeye. Punkish.

I like to read. I like to read a lot. I have given some thought to how to have some sort of book page projection into a pair of glasses or across a windshield, or some sort of system for the shower where you put the book in the plastic thing and then use a little like, lever thing that sticks out to turn the pages, so it's all protected from the water. I could use one behind the kitchen sink, too. Practical ideas, these. 

Anyway, if I were a gazillionaire, I still think I would check out a lot at the library, because there's not much worse than owning a rotten book. So I go 1,2 times a week and I usually have 40 books or so in my possession. In Conroe, they had a 25 book limit and you could check out for like a week. Here, there is no limit and you get them for close to a month. So much win! I tend to keep the overdue fines running around $4, and generally relations are pleasant with the ladies of the library. 

The tides have turned, however. Sometime last week, I don't know when, as I was unaware of the crime in general, the corner of a book got wet. Today, when I came in with the hostage negotiations, I was met with frostiness. The Ice Ladies then informed the crumb-crunchers and myself that our only options were a) suicide or b) buying the book. I examined the book. It was kinda wavy on one part, I guess. I started to make a half-hearted appeal for reason, but I was frozen out, so I retreated and wrote the dadgum check. 

I expect palm trees and pageant waves the next time I go in. Buy the book. Sheesh.